


(I Like My) Kisses Down Low

by lonniek



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, F/M, Face-Sitting, Light Dom/sub, Lingerie, Overstimulation, Pegging, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Toys, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-08
Updated: 2016-01-08
Packaged: 2018-05-12 13:59:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5668558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lonniek/pseuds/lonniek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lydia Martin wears $150 panties. Her underwear drawers are stocked with Fleur of England, Fox and Rose. She turns up her nose at Victoria’s Secret, prefers to roll on her Bordelle stockings, says that the soft lace of the garter really makes it worth wearing what too many boys deem too many clothes. She lavishes in her morning routine: hair and makeup is fun, the icing on the cake, but picking her outfit, the way that the feather-light fabric of her newest dress will float around her, kiss at the tops of her supple thighs, that’s what she lives for in the morning. It’s better than coffee.</p><p>So when Lydia deliberately chooses to forego all of that, she figures she must be pretty far in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(I Like My) Kisses Down Low

**Author's Note:**

  * For [katarama](https://archiveofourown.org/users/katarama/gifts).



Lydia Martin wears $150 panties. Her underwear drawers are stocked with Fleur of England, Fox and Rose. She turns up her nose at Victoria’s Secret, prefers to roll on her Bordelle stockings, says that the soft lace of the garter really makes it worth wearing what too many boys deem too many clothes. She lavishes in her morning routine: hair and makeup is fun, the icing on the cake, but picking her outfit, the way that the feather-light fabric of her newest dress will float around her, kiss at the tops of her supple thighs, that’s what she lives for in the morning. It’s better than coffee.

So when Lydia deliberately chooses to forego all of that, she figures she must be pretty far in love. It’s the way that Derek’s jaw drops just a little bit when he catches Lydia’s scent, the way he pointedly looks anywhere but between her legs, that does it. It’s a nice change, to be able to relax long enough to consider her sex life again. But things are different now that Derek’s back, now that Derek and Scott are working together, now that things are right and they’re a _pack_ again, everyone can breathe a little easier. And Derek looks at Lydia like he’s never really seen her before (Lydia can forgive him this; she’s grown a lot between then and now, learned to be _fighter soldier warrior_ : she wears her victory like a crown). She’s over pretending she’s not smart, that she’s not in control, and Derek is smitten with her right back.

The first time it happens, it’s inadvertent. It’s hot and Lydia’s tired and she pulls on a t-shirt and shorts and throws her hair into a bun and doesn’t think twice about pulling on underwear before stuffing her feet in her shoes and heading to Scott’s house for their pack meeting. She stops to pick up dessert because Scott and Kira burned the cake when they were off fooling around. It’s all routine until she actually gets inside. There’s already a space next to Derek on the couch, and she plops down next to him with her plate of food and Stiles pulls up their Netflix page.

“Hey, Der,” she murmurs, presses a kiss to the corner of his jaw. His stubble has grown out a little bit, and she likes it like that, likes the way that the hair doesn’t quite scratch but doesn’t quite tickle her skin (she can’t lie, she likes the beard burn between her thighs, too).

Derek moans. It’s quiet, but everyone on the couch stiffens at once. Derek’s eyes widen and he takes a deep breath to try and explain, to rationalize, but all he smells is _Lydia_. She’s soft like rose water and fresh-ground cardamom seeds. Everyone’s looking, but the only gaze that matters is hers, and she stares at him, confused, bewildered, something verging on amused. Derek swallows but his throat stays dry.

 _Fuck it_. He grabs her hand.

“We have to go.” There’s a desperate finality in his voice, and understanding dawns, gives way to pleasure. Lydia smiles, hops off the couch to bounce behind him, and they run out of the house, like the giggling teenagers they used to be.

They don’t even make it to the car. Derek picks her up around the waist and fucks her against the back wall of the McCall house, his pants around his knees and her shorts pushed to the side. They have the presence of mind to at least _try_ to be quiet, and Derek comes with Lydia’s neck between his lips and her name on his tongue. Lydia still blames Derek that they got caught, because he couldn’t help himself, dropped to his knees and pressed his lips to her cunt and fucked her with his tongue for every drop of his come, and then her come, slick and warm against his cheeks, until she couldn’t be quiet anymore. The backdoor light clicked on, and the pack stared down at them with knowing, judging, bemused looks.

Derek shrugs about it now, says that he _knows_ they’ve done worse. But they did promise to at least _try_ to have sex somewhere other than the back of Scott’s house in the future.

\---

The next time it happens, Lydia’s a little more prepared for it. They’re having a pack meeting at her house, keeping her company while her mom is out of town for the weekend. It’s a thoughtful gesture, and she appreciates it, but Lydia’s stressed and she would have preferred to have been alone. Stiles and Isaac and Malia argue about what to watch now that they’re done watching _Cosmos_ , and then about what to have for dinner, and then about how many movies they’re going to watch. It’s all just the snarky banter that they’ve developed between the three of them, but Lydia’s so glad she’s not involved in that. It wears her out sometimes, having to be on all the time.

Around nine, she decides that she’s had enough. She gets up and pads down the hall to her bedroom and takes her time undressing. First it’s the hairpins, then the makeup, and then the lingerie. She pulls her bra off in a quick, practiced motion and rolls her shoulders back, adjusts her breasts in her shirt. She pulls up her skirt and unclips her stockings, takes off her garter and tights and lets her legs breathe for a moment. She revels in pulling off her underwear, in the chain reaction she’s setting in motion. Arousal makes her hips sway a little softer, makes her skin prickle with so much more _awareness_ , and it’s a little bit electrifying. She pulls her hair to the side and braids it in quick, deliberate motions, spins a hair tie around the end, and tosses it over her shoulder. She fixes her skirt and then heads back out into the living room.

Lydia can almost feel the moment that Derek realizes that she’s not wearing underwear, that the wetness between her lips threatens to slide down her thighs, give them away in their little game. It prickles again at that almost tangible sense of awareness. It only makes her hotter, and she shifts from her position in the doorway, drops her weight against the doorframe and takes a deep breath in. She knows Derek sees the swell of her breasts, the way her nipples harden and cling to the fabric.

As planned, everyone is quick to find excuses to say goodbye. The moment the door is closed, Derek is in front of her. He reaches out instinctively to take her waist but stops short when he meets her eyes, sees the way she’s waiting for him to ask.

“I want you,” he breathes. He’s so close that Lydia can taste how true it is. He radiates heat, it’s almost like he’s vibrating. His fingers itch downward, eager to slide his hands over her skirt so he can reach up it and take her ass in his hands. Lydia loves to come like that, rutting against Derek’s thigh until she soaks through his jeans.

But she has other plans for tonight. Lydia smiles, indulges just a little and trails her fingers over Derek’s cock in his jeans. His hips shiver with his determination to be still. “Good boy,” she whispers into his ear, and Derek whimpers. “Do you want to play a little bit?” Derek drops his head forward and nods. “I need to hear you, Der,” she reminds him gently.

“Yes,” he says. “ _Please_.” Lydia nods and kisses Derek on the forehead, pulls away so that she can take all of him in.

“Strip.” The word leaves her mouth and Derek pulls his shirt over his head so quickly that Lydia almost misses it. She holds up a finger when he goes to yank off his pants. “Slower,” she cautions him. “Watch me.” Lydia slides her skirt up her hips, slow inch by inch. Derek’s jaw drops, and he pulls open his fly in the same slow motion. Lydia sucks two fingers into her mouth, and Derek lets out a ragged breath as he pushes his jeans down his legs and pulls them off. Lydia pulls her fingers out of her mouth with a wet pop and drags them over her clit to push inside of her. “Come here,” she says. “Don’t touch. Do you want to taste me?” Derek nods down at her, ready to drop to his knees right here in the hallway for the opportunity.

“God, yes. Lydia, please, can I?” He’s always so unashamed of his begging. Jackson used to hate it, but Derek is so _earnest_ , as though one more second than necessary of waiting will be the death of him. Lydia rocks down against her fingers for a moment more before she pulls back, draws her fingers up to her lips, and then sucks them into her mouth. Derek watches her with his tongue tracing the motions that he can see hers make.

“Come taste,” she says when she’s satisfied. Derek starts to drop, and she stops him with a quick hand on his arm. “Ah, here,” she says and points to her mouth. “Kiss me.” Derek masks his disappointment well, closes the distance between their lips so that he can taste her. They kiss until Lydia guides Derek’s hand between her legs, so that he can feel. He sinks his middle finger into her, and Lydia pulls away from the kiss to suck in a deep breath. “Oh, _god_ ,” she says, low and deep in her chest.

“Lydia,” Derek whispers, pulls his finger back and pushes in another. Lydia groans, bites down on her lip and lets him fuck her like that, thick, slow fingers dragging and pulling inside of her while she talks to him.

“We’re going to go to my room now. And then you can go down on me, I promise. And if you’re a good boy, you get a present. How does that sound? Would you like that?” Derek nods and opens his mouth to speak and groans and then nods again. “Okay, big guy, come on,” she says, and then she’s pulling away from him, leaving him to follow her back down into her bedroom. He closes the door behind them, a force of habit even though no one is coming home, and when he turns back around, Lydia is unzipping her skirt.

“Wait,” he says, and Lydia freezes. She opens her mouth to ask what’s wrong, but Derek beats her to it. “I want you to sit on my face,” he says. Lydia nods and smiles and starts to pull her zipper down a little more, until he blurts out, “I like it when you have your clothes on.” Lydia smiles wider and zips her skirt back up.

“I love it when you tell me what you want,” she says, pointing to the bed. Derek goes quickly, settling comfortably back against the pillows. “Now I get to give you what you need, right?” Derek nods, because he trusts her, because he knows that she will. “No touching,” she says as she comes over to the side of the bed. She climbs up and over Derek, straddles him and looks down. “If you touch, I go get the handcuffs, and you don’t get your present. Understood?”

“Yes,” Derek promises, and she sinks the rest of the distance for Derek’s tongue to greet her clit. She relaxes into the curve of his lips, the ease of his tongue inside of her, around her. Lydia shivers and grips the headboard and sinks down a little further, until she’s sure that all Derek can smell is her, until all he can taste is her and all he can hear is the sound of his tongue deep and warm and wet buried in her cunt and the way it makes Lydia cry out above him. She traps him between her thighs until he can’t breathe, and even then he doesn’t want to admit that he needs to breathe anything other than her. But then the sensation of his lung wanting to burst outweighs his (sometimes almost literal) desire to drown in her, and Derek pats Lydia’s thigh twice.

Lydia pulls up above him, breathing heavy from between clenched teeth. “You okay?” she asks quietly. She feels Derek’s head move, nodding yes, against her leg. He’s breathing just as hard as she is.

“Again,” he says after a moment. “I want to make you come. I want to _feel_ you come. Please.” Lydia, despite her track record for bad boys, has never been able to resist a sweet boy with good manners. And who is she to deny Derek when he asks like _that_? Lydia takes a steadying breath, feels the whisper-tickle of Derek’s breath, warm and cool all at once against her, and she sighs and drops down again, letting Derek and the headboard support her weight.

Her thighs are more sensitive this time to the scruff of Derek’s jaw, and Lydia rocks her hips against it, each roll of her hips just a little more frantic than the last as the warm heat on her thighs starts to burn. Her legs tremble around his jaw, squeezing tighter. She can feel how wet she is, feel the way that it can’t just be Derek’s tongue pressed up inside of her that has the space between her legs so slick. Lydia wants this to last, to ride the high of Derek’s nose nudging her clit, but she’s desperate, and she can feel the way that Derek’s hands twitch by his side as he struggles to be obedient. Her whole body aches, one tight string winding tighter and tighter, until the string snaps and she’s shouting Derek’s name, hoarse and loud and _wrecked_.

The orgasm pulses through Lydia’s body, and for a moment she can’t feel her extremities, numb outward from her core, but hot and heavy and sated at her center. Derek continues to suckle and press kisses to Lydia’s clit, making her jump and shiver over his face, not quite pulling away from the overstimulation. It’s a game they both like to play: where Lydia sees how much she can take after Derek gets her off, and how far Lydia can push Derek before he gives in and touches her. Derek blows a deliberate, cool breath over her clit and Lydia shudders and cants her hips up then. Derek, eager for more, to bury himself in her scent, reaches up in a quick motion, desperate to take hold of her thighs and pull her back down onto him, to eat her out until she’s a ragged mess above him. He loves her like that: with sweat across her brow, her cheeks pink and loose hairs framing the content exhaustion on her face.

But they’re still playing. Derek still has a present. So his fingers press down into her aura, close enough that Lydia can feel the heat from his fingertips, but he doesn’t touch her.

“Derek,” Lydia breathes, straightening up and leaning back so she’s sitting on his chest. His facial hair is matted and wet, and Lydia can’t help but lean forward to kiss him. His lips are swollen and plump and she tastes herself in his mouth. It’s a satisfying flavor: he tastes like he belongs to her. When Lydia’s legs cooperate, she throws one over his body and settles down on his side. He curls one hand over her waist protectively, stroking the skin around her stomach where her shirt has come untucked. Lydia rests her hand on Derek’s cock, feels it throb and twitch and pulse under her hand, a promise that she hasn’t forgotten about him. He grunts and rolls his hips when she strokes his cock softly, catching her breath. He’s slow, patient, and Lydia knows that he’s earned his present. She sits up and strips off her blouse in a languid motion, and twists to unzip and pull off her skirt. When she sidles up to him again, a firm hand stroking him off again, more urgently, Derek knows he’s done well.

“You’re such a good boy,” she coos, and Derek smiles despite himself. Pride swells in his chest, and he ducks his head down to look at the top of Lydia’s head. “I knew you could hold out for me. Now I get to take care of you.” Lydia’s fingers stroke further down Derek’s cock, shifting to cup his balls, roll them delicately between her fingers, and then slides further back, circling at his hole. The pad of her thumb presses just a little bit, not enough for penetration, but enough that her intentions become clear.

“Please fuck me,” Derek blurts out, the same time that Lydia turns her face up to him to ask how he’s like to get off today. She wiggles up the bed, wraps her arms around Derek’s neck, and kisses him, slow and deep

“Of course, Der. Of course I will,” she says against his mouth. She pulls up then, rolls out of bed to grab her harness and Derek’s favorite dildo. They have a few they use when Derek needs this, but there’s one that’s just a little thicker than all the others, one that curves up just enough, that Derek prefers. She fits the harness on easily, taking her time so that Derek can see how relaxed she is. She pulls open the other bedside drawer for the bottle of lube, and tosses it on the bed. It bounces and lands just shy of Derek’s hand, and he reaches down to grab it.

“I want you to open yourself up for me,” Lydia says casually, gripping the base of her cock. Derek nods and pops open the cap, drizzles lube over one of his fingers. Lydia takes the bottle when he sets it on the bed, pours some into her hand and works it onto the toy. “And I want you to watch me stroke my cock while you do it, so you can see how hard you make me.”

“Lydia,” Derek whines, working in another finger. He changes angles, sitting up so that he has better leverage against his hand, but true to form, he doesn’t take his eyes off of her. Derek watches her hips pump the dildo in and out of her hand to the same rhythm that he’s fucking himself, and he caves. His body feels empty without some kind of tether to hers in moments like these. When she’s close enough that she is in every one of his senses except touch, Derek doesn’t know what to do with himself. Derek rolls onto his stomach and pulls up onto his hands and knees, looking back at her from over his shoulder. “Please, Lyd, fuck me,” he begs, presenting himself to her as his eyelids flutter. His cock is thick and heavy between his legs. “Please. Make me feel it, please Lyd, come on. Come on, fuck me, _please_ . I wanna feel your big, thick cock inside of me, Lydia. I don’t know what to do with--oh _fuck_.”

The way that Lydia pushes into Derek is with the same frantic urgency that she rode his face. It’s insistent and constant and _hot_. Lydia bottoms out quickly, pauses to take a deep breath and press her hands into his waist, right above his hips. Derek’s hands fit almost all the way around her waist, and how small her hands look on him like this would be comical to someone else. But to Derek, it’s nothing short of a miracle: to feel so protected and so completely covered by someone who reaches his shoulder in heels in her wildest dreams. When Lydia pulls Derek’s hips back and snaps hers forward, her hands gripping what she can reach of his waist, Derek feels his fullest. When Lydia finds her stride, she splays herself out over what she can reach of the expanse of his back, folds her arms under his chest and grips her shoulders to keep him in place. Derek drops his head against her arm.

They fuck like that, fast and grueling and with grunts and curses and heaving breaths, until Derek’s thighs tremble underneath them, threatening to give out. Lydia coaxes him onto his back then, and lowers herself back in between his thighs. He spreads his legs for her, and she presses her cock against his entrance, pushes slow, slower, slower, until she’s inside of him again, her hips pressed flush against him. Derek traps Lydia’s thighs between his legs, keeping her close, and rolls his hips around her.

“Yeah, Derek. God, I love to watch you take my cock like that,” Lydia praises, reaching up a hand to stroke his forehead. Her palm comes away damp with sweat, and she smiles. “You’re so good for me, Der, god. You’re such a good boy, so good just for me. Can you take it just a little longer, baby?” Derek gasps when Lydia takes his cock in hand again, tenses up around Lydia’s cock, and his hips lose their rhythm. Lydia smiles softly and shushes him, rests her other hand along the crease of his hips to reset their pace. It’s deep and hard and painstakingly slow, contrasting the way that she’s jerking him off. Lydia strokes his cock short and quick and Derek can’t find his equilibrium between the two opposing motions.

“Yeah, Der, just like that,” Lydia tells him when his eyes are screwed shut and he can’t do anything but gasp her name and work his lips in silent prayer. “Come on, baby, you can let go for me. Don’t you want to come all over my cock? Get your reward, Der. Yeah, there we go, that’s it.” Lydia huffs quiet encouragement into Derek’s ear, drags her whole body up his with each thrust. Derek’s jaw drops open to draw breath, to say something, to do _something_ , but all that comes out is one long, desperate

“ _Fuck_ ,” as Derek rolls his hips up and rocks back so that Lydia’s stroking across his prostate with every thrust, and then he comes. He comes between their bodies, up his chest, and it smears on the next thrust. Lydia holds still after that, buried inside of Derek to the hilt while his hips tremble and stutter around her. She only pulls out of him, slowly and carefully, when Derek’s hips settle into the bed again and his legs unwrap from around the backs of Lydia’s thighs. While she unhooks the harness and sets the toy aside to deal with later, Derek turns to hide his face in the pillow and catch his breath. Lydia crawls up him, peppering every inch of skin that she meets on her path with little kisses. He curls onto his side, tucks himself against her so that she can hold him, stroke soft, tender fingers over his arms so that he can settle back into the now.

“I’m so proud of you,” Lydia says, scratching absently through Derek’s chest hair. He grumbles something back, just on this side of asleep. “I’m sorry, I missed that,” she chuckles, tucking loose hair behind her ear so that she can lean over his shoulder to hear him. She’s sticky and wet and they definitely both need to shower, but that’ll happen at some point, definitely after a nap.

“I said,” Derek says, clearing his throat. He turns onto his back, lacing his fingers between hers and resting it on his chest. He watches the steady rise and fall for a moment before looking at Lydia again. There’s something that’s not quite embarrassment in his eyes, and Lydia puts on her best attentive face. “I said that you should not wear underwear more often.”

Lydia laughs herself breathless, kisses Derek on the temple, and promises to do just that. “If you’re a good boy.”

**Author's Note:**

> Join me on [tumblr](demigirlisaaclahey.tumblr.com)


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